In The Darkness
by cojoboy
Summary: "Are you saying all your success these past few months was a fluke greenhorn? You follow where your gut takes you, you never solve two crimes the same way. You're a wild card Daniel, something new and unpredictable, whether for better or for worse, and right now, a wild card is what this case needs" Strange things are happening in the small town of Millford.
1. the fiRst chapter

The headquarters of the Bureau of Criminal Investigation had a particular air about it. One would probably call the erratic movements from desk to desk and the clickety clack of the typewriters frantic, while others would call it efficient. One might call the piles of police reports and evidence strewn about chaotic, while others would call it orderly. whether frantic or efficient, chaotic or orderly, one thing most people agree upon is that the Bureau is a stately place, however, that hardly mattered to the investigator, Daniel Howdford, who had only been appointed three months prior. In the three months he had been an investigator, However, 24 year old Daniel had an excellent record of catching a total of 13 notorious criminals (three of which had been murderers and others which had required a lengthy pursuits). Some might acclaim these catchings to his excellent deduction skills, while others conspire that he has hidden contacts in the underground.

If you were to ask what caused him to be so successful he would _not_ say it it was because of his excellent deduction skills (for they were only above average in his opinion) nor would he say it was because of any contacts in the underground (for he barely had any friends to begin with) but he would say it comes down to one thing, instinct. It was instinct which made him think to go to the National Berling Bank at 3:00 in the morning and catch the notorious Sterling brothers despite having no other leads, it was instinct which caused him to think of check the fingerprints of a family's long time neighbor "Aunt Croaky" and match them to a frying pan in the family's cupboard solving the notorious Ferling street murder, but right now at the headquarters of the Bureau of Criminal Investigation Daniel Howdford thought instinct was causing him to be nervous.

Who wouldn't be nervous, Daniel, a greenhorn, had been asked to meet with the chief of the Bureau of Criminal Investigation on quote on quote "official business" and had been given no other information.

Daniel stood in front of a secretary at the entrance to the Bureau of Criminal Investigation."name" said the secretary as she typed something up on a typewriter. "Daniel Howdford Ms." "are you here to meet with the chief." "yes ma'am." "second floor, door at the end of the hall, I'll tell him you're coming up." she said not looking away from the typewriter as she picked up the phone to call the chief. Daniel went forward as he dodged people who were either frantically or efficiently moving about the room.

Daniel finally reached the chiefs office only to hear the voice of the chief himself as a thin looking man with large round glasses, parted hair and a crooked bowtie opened the door "and Harold," said the chief from inside his office "organise some of those case files from three years ago down in cabinet B." "yes, Sir" squeaked the sickly, nervous-looking, man as he quickly rushed past Daniel to complete some menial task.

"Come in" said the chief who Daniel now knew was named Bradford Pines due to a wooden plaque on his large intricate desk "and sorry about my useless intern, he's new at the Bureau." Daniel gulped as he nervously walked into the relatively large room and finally worked up the courage to talk "Sorry Sir, but I have been meaning to ask something" Daniel paused for a moment to look at Mr Pines before continuing "why exactly have you called me here today?" "In due time, greenhorn" said Bradford with his stern glare, greying hair and hands clenched together with elbows on the desk "but please, take a seat."

Daniel sat down quickly partly out of curiosity but also partly out of nervousness."Have you ever heard of a quaint little town called Millford" said Mr Pines getting straight to the point. "I can't say I have Sir" "About a week ago I sent an experienced Inspector out to investigate a possible string of disappearances happening in that quaint town." "Im sorry but what do you mean by _possible_ disappearances, Sir?" Daniel answered as his instincts kicked in. "according to Inspector Morgan, the Inspector I sent, after two months of investigation he has been able to deduce that people have been going missing on and off for the past few years, and that there is no noticeable connection between those who disappear." Bradford stated "And?" asked Daniel earnestly "And thats all he has been able to find after a whole two months of investigation, Inspector Morgan is starting to believe that these disappearances are mere coincidences"

"That would be the most logical conclusion based on the evidence given" Daniel said, not believing that was the case for a moment. "I don't want a 'by the book' answer greenhorn" bradford retorted "no matter how you look at it this whole matter smells fishy, and I want to get to the bottom of it, that's where you come in, Inspector Morgan has years of experience investigating and is one of the best in the business when it comes to catching criminals, but he's too formulaic, this case is going to be closed in a month whether I like it or not and it needs something more to get it off its feet, and you've got a good gut Daniel Howdford" "Gut, Sir?" Daniel questioned quizzically, Mr Pines promptly gave a snort "Are you saying all your success these past few months was a fluke greenhorn? You follow where your gut takes you, you never solve two crimes the same way. You're a wild card Daniel, something new and unpredictable, whether for better or for worse, and right now, a wild card is what this case needs"

"Don't let what I'm saying get to your head, you've got your flaws, greenhorn, and I still believe some of your successes were flukes, but right now the ordinary ain't gonna cut it for this case and you're a last minute gamble, your assignment is to assist Inspector Morgan in the investigation of the missing persons in the town of Millford. Anything else you need to know is in this folder" and with this Bradford Pines pushed a particularly thin folder towards Daniel "any questions?" "Just one, Sir" Daniel answered "how is it that people have been going missing for two years and yet the Bureau noticed this only just a few months ago" Bradford paused for a moment before answering "The disappearances have been inconsistent, some far apart and others bunched together, its hard to notice any sort of pattern with erratic inconsistencies. Those who go missing also have no relation to one another and sometimes live on completely opposite sides of town, their bios have nothing in common either, young, old, occupations, nothing. When they disappear they don't even leave a trace or any sign of struggle, it's almost like they decided to leave one night and never came back. Half these disappearances never even made it into a column in the local newspaper, though there have been rumors. It's easy for something like this to slip by unnoticed. Other than that, remember to pack your bags, you're leaving tomorrow, you'll be staying with Inspector Morgan during the duration of the investigation, though I don't know how much help he'll be considering the recent reports he's given. You are dismissed Daniel Howdford." Mr Pines then began to get some files from a cabinet behind him while Daniel took the folder and began to leave the room albeit slightly annoyed with having to leave on such short notice. Then Mr Pines interrupted him "Oh, and could you keep hush hush about this, the dignity of the Bureau is at stake." On that note, Daniel left to begin preparing for his journey to the small, quaint town of Millford.

* * *

><p>Alexander Sterling Grue was mourning in a forest not far from his current place of residence causing him to be in a state of almost calm unrest. As he meandered through the birch forest, light glistening through the leaves, he gave off a particular look with his dark attire, pale visage and his stare off into space which made him look as if though he were in complex state of deep thought. Alex's despondent thoughts were not that deep however and actually seemed to never be just quite in his head, more like a swirling miasma, never quite here or there but ever present, or more so like the slow but powerful crashing of waves in an unrelenting, infinite ocean. Mourning was not something Alex did often.<p>

Mourning was an act most would call out of character for Alex's personality, he wasn't the particular type of person to loom in woods having such thoughts, being detached from his surroundings, he always took reality for what it was, nothing more, nothing less. He wasn't a pessimist, but he also wasn't quite an optimist either. If life were a play, he wouldn't think himself the protagonist, plot moving around him like a well oiled machine, but rather an extra, unimportant in the grand scheme of things. That's how he took reality because, that's how it really was, and the life of an extra usually remains unnoticed in the spectators eyes even if the events unfolding were sudden, unforgiving and cruel. Alex still remembered when _it_ happened about a month ago.

Alexander Grue heard the chirping of birds in the distance almost unwittingly mocking him and his bleak circumstances. If Alex was actually present during _it_, he would most likely be storming through the forest, cold, bitter. but now he felt more like a spectator, things happen on a stage never affecting him directly. _It_ still hurt to think about though. Alex could remember _it_ vividly through memories blurred together like colors on a canvas.

Alex finally reached his destination, a ledge with a large tree growing on top with its roots burrowed deep along the edge. He sat down at the base of the ledge and remembered a good friend he had made named Christopher who had curly brown hair and a grin that was wider and brighter than a cheshire cat's. Alex would have been with him on this forest outing (among others they had) if Chris hadn't been preoccupied today although he had to thank him some for leaving him to his own devices, it is always important to get some thinking time (no matter the darkness of the thoughts). Alex looked on the ground for a good stick to use as he recalled what happened a month ago, when _it_ occurred.

Someone came to his house on a sunny afternoon, he couldn't remember the face but that didn't matter. The man looked grim as he told him the news, he didn't believe him at first, he only smiled nervously wondering why someone would joke about something so serious. realization hit him like a train, but he still kept up a nervous smile almost disbelievingly, like if he didn't think it was true then it didn't happen. He eventually caved in to the unforgiving truth of reality, almost causing him to die on the inside. The funeral was held a few days later, the last time he ever saw them was the moment before they were lowered into their graves. Engraved into his mind that day were the pale faces of those he held most dearly, the haunting visages of his deceased parents. He took reality on that day the same way he did every day, as it was, it was probably the only thing keeping him from breaking.

Alex sat down on a large rock at the base of the small cliff and pulled out a large metal knife sheathed in thick leather, it used to be his fathers. Alex inherited very little because his parents will was written before he was born and only received items unaccounted for in the will, such as his fathers old hunting knife. The knife was the only thing he had taken (besides a dark leather belt too large for him to wear) everything else he inherited were mundane personal items which he didn't keep (useless, and mementos would only remind him of his parents even more) but Alex wasn't thinking about that as he unsheathed the his fathers large knife and began to whittle the end of a stick he picked up earlier.

After _it _happened, he was sent away to live with a relative he never met named Merdle Jebbett or Aunt Jebbey who took away his knife after finding out about it. He had been able to snatch it back, however, aside from that he had been living with her for about a month. she was strict on some things but lenient on others and life with her had been generally peaceful as the days wasted away either mourning or spending time with Christopher in the forest. Christopher could tell that he had been through some hard times and he suspected Chris had been through a few hard times himself despite his cheerful demeanor.

Alex appraised the stick he was whittling and after he was satisfied he put the stick with the sharpened end in a hole in between the rock he was sitting on and the ledge along with many others he had sharpened over the days. He supposed this was the closest thing he had to a hobby, sharpening sticks, he had a knife and didn't have anything else to do with it. He put the rock back covering the hole after deciding it was getting late with a new thought in his head pondering what he should do with so many sticks or maybe whether or not he should get a new, more enlightening, hobby. He went back along the twisting path he used to get here, mourning a bit less with the orange sun glinting through the trees, heading torwards his most recent home located in a quaint little town, a quaint little town called Millford.


	2. allitErative introductions

Authors Note: I can't say I like putting an author note up as it seems to take away from the flow of the story, but I figured why not put one up, might as well, everyone else seems to be doing it, heck, if I was reading a fantasy epic I would not want the author to take a break in the middle of a story and complain for a paragraph about how terrible their personal life is, continuing to go in intricate detail. People, this isn't tumblr, I come here to read some good ol' (sometimes) terrible) fiction and I think its wrong that people write these things. Seriously, people go on for a paragraph about who knows what and waste everybody's time.

Honestly, who would do that.

On a more serious note, please rate and review, I like to receive feedback so put whatever you like in the review section (though constructive criticism is very welcome).

Without further ado let us continue to our story.

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><p>Christopher Curling Crockford was curiously contemplating the correct catalyst concocted for continuous conceiving of alliterative content, but this thought came and went quickly as he was distracted with his brown hair, he curled his thick curly curls curtly twisting them between his fingers and pulling them down to his eyes to see each individual strand of hair as they weaved together in intricate detail. A smile erupted on his face as he stared intensely at them, far more intensely than should be healthy. He began to wonder what it would be like to be his lice, not that he had lice, but living in massive mountainous swirls, an indecipherable maze. Biding your time until the dreaded rain of doom fell from the shower head. Barely holding on as oceans burst through everything leaving a path of destruction in its wake. After the storm, everything is cleaner, hair like fresh snow shining under the great bulb of light signaling a new eon in your lifetime, but all is not well, during the torrent of water many of your little lice friends were washed away into the dreaded drain of darkness, everything is peaceful and despite the sadness in your heart of their passing. You continue smiling glad for what life has given you and glad for another day. Later, you were washed away by the another torrent of water. Christopher was glad he didn't have lice, he probably wouldn't have the heart to get rid of them.<p>

Christopher Crockford couldn't condone his careless contemplation's continuity. He was actually busy working in a garden, a rare sight for one to be in the middle of the stone city of Millford, it was a small garden in a rectangular red box which he had spent his morning and some of his afternoon setting up. It wasn't his garden but he was forced to help his neighbor set it up in retribution after a terrible accident with a rock, a freshly cleaned window, and butterfingers. He would rather be out in the forest with his new friend Alex, but duty calls and making a garden is better than working off his debt for the window. His neighbors name was Sarah Lestling, a single mother with two daughters, He knew her somewhat before the incident but he sure knew her afterward. The calm demeanor and smile only made the thinly veiled rage that much more menacing, he was glad all he got was setting up a box and some dirt.

The garden was located on the Lestling's roof, one of the few flat roofs in Millford, an oddity with the sharper roofs of the tight streets and buildings hazardously bunched together. The sun turned orange on the horizon and Chris Crockford could not continue his condemnation with no concise continuum as Chris's conservatory capability concluded. He realized how tired he was and he decided he could leave without telling Ms Lestling, his work was done anyway, and the sun would be setting soon, so he supposed it didn't matter whether or not she knew. Chris decided the funnest way to leave would be by sliding down the metal drainage pipe on the side of the house. He then continued to leave by sliding down the metal drainage pipe on the side of the house, However, his wobbly arms couldn't hold him up for long, and he ended up falling on the cobblestone pavement flat on his back. This hardly deterred his cheerful demeanor and no time was wasted shuffling himself back up to continue on his merry way whistling to himself with no doubt in his mind that alliteration was the most wonderful and not annoying thing he knew.

Chris's careless cognitive commotion quickly quelled as Crockford collided with a curious cloaked compatriot who chaotically cornered closures queerly which confused curious Chris Crockford as this commotive conduct cohesively caused concern not commonplace. His encounter with the cloaked man made him draw a blank. His mind wandered into what he _was_ planning to do with Alex today (which was obviously not possible do to the shattering story of "Rock Meets Window") Christopher had found something... interesting... in the forest and thought it best if they went there together. Plans had to be put on hold till some other time though. He had to get home on time and the cloaked man stunned him for approximately the amount of time it took you to read this paragraph.

Poor Christopher, he never stopped smiling for that entire time.

After regaining his composure, despite those the un-placid smiling had disturbed around him, he looked at his big golden wristwatch with lots of tiny gears and way too many hands than should be needed. He didn't actually have a wristwatch on his wrist, but this thought only occurred to him after he checked that the time was 7:30, he almost frowned as he needed to be home by 8:00. Chris prayed that his watch was fast, he might not make it home on time.

After an extended period of contemplation (about two and a half nanoseconds) Christopher decided that the quickest way to get home would be through the forest. The forest made an indent in Millford causing a small divide. Christopher was currently near Ms Sarah's house in the east, his home was in the west part of town. Between them was the forest in the south. as a point of reference Alex's house was near the edge of the forest in the north, it sort of gave the town a crescent-esque look with his and Ms Lestings house on opposite sides. Instead of going around the forest through the town, he would go straight through forest allowing a faster route.

After the two and a half nanoseconds were over, Christopher was pumped with the energy of a thousand cascading bulls, he would get home on time even if his legs wore down into tiny nubs and the heavens rained burning hail, nothing would stop him now. His foot raised high into the sky. The first step was about to be made; nothing would stop this momentous moment. His foot crashed into the ground with great force and copious amounts of propulsion was made. He flew forward so fast even Hermes would have cried a single tear of awe, that was, until this force sent him barreling into someone else, first the cloaked guy and now someone else, what gives? Now everyone was looking a little bit worried wondering if the annoyed boy would ram into them.

After four paragraphs in a row starting with the word after, Chris looked down to see who exactly he had rammed into, he was greeted by a calm demeanor and a smile, but that did nothing to cover up the thinly veiled rage and deja vu Christopher was getting. At first, Christopher thought he had collided with Ms Lestling herself, but upon further investigation he realized that it was Ms Lestling's youngest daughter. Chris sensed intense rage as the beast breathed deeply and slowly rose from the ground, the sky seemed to darken as her smile glinted from her shadowed visage. Her arm rose into the air, shaking from her wrath. She saw the kid who shattered her window, sending glass everywhere, making her floor a minefield, and now he had the nerve to knock her to the ground. After her fist was as high as it would go, it came crashing down, she was doing the only thing she deemed appropriate in this situation. A single digit pointed in Christophers direction and anger swelled in her voice.

"What the heck was that for!" she said at a ironically reasonable volume as to not cause a ruckus despite her infallible rage.

"Uhh…," Chris said with a pleading look in his eyes "accident?"

They stood at the same height. Chris remembered her name was other or the something as her eyes locked with his and his eyes were distracted by a particularly large butterfly fluttering towards him. There was a thick tension in the air, or none at all, depending on who you asked. Christopher looked behind whatshername and saw the sun continuing to fall, he was going to be later than late. At this same time Ms Lesting's daughter quelled her rage quickly, she had to get home on time too and decided to stop this dispute quickly. In unison they both spoke.

"Look, I don't know what this poor butterfly did to you but I gotta go home now" Chris said

"Your off the hook, this time, I have to get home soon" Ms Who'sit said giving the "I got my eyes on you" sign.

They both then rushed off feeling a bit more sour.

* * *

><p>Daniel Howdford was having a most excellent day. He had just gotten to the rustic city by bus, the sun was setting in the distance, the birds chirping joyous tunes, a light chattering as the day ended and people returned to their homes, And who could forget the young boy with brown hair barreling towards him with no conscience thought to his surroundings. He was obviously what made this day even better.<p>

Daniel didn't fall to the human bullet's impact, however, but he gave out a grunt as the boy collided with his gut. He thought he saw this kid hit two other people down the street earlier and wondered what caused him to go on a rampage. The kid, which Daniel mentally nicknamed "bull", sat up from his position on the ground and rubbed the back of his head. "Sorry sir, I didn't see you there, I'm in a bit of a rush right now". "bull" got up and began rushing into the direction of where Daniel thought the forest was located, based on a map he had received yesterday by Mr Pines.

Daniel looked down at the wrinkled map he was holding, if he was reading it right his destination should be just up ahead. It looked to be dank place with the setting sun's shadows covering the crooked alleyway. Daniel had to check the map twice just to make sure this was the right place. In the alleyway, he looked around and saw the knotted wooden door indented in the wall, above it, a worn-down sign hung with the establishments name "The Faulty Kettle: Bar and Inn". "and Inn" looked like it was hastily added on later in the corner of the sign. This was where he was told he would be staying with Inspector Morgan for the last month of the investigation. Daniel stood in front of the door and gulped nervously as he made his fist make a few quick knocks on the door. The door creaked inward, it was unlocked, he quickly peered inside the opening made by the doors movement. Inside he could see that it looked like your average bar (albeit a bit more musty). The gruff looking bartender stood behind his counter cleaning glasses, puny, in his hands. The few people inside milled about, some drinking straight from the bottle, others just from glasses. Daniel opened the door the rest of the way, coughing as sawdust billowed out, the bartender glanced over for a second, but continued wiping the glass he was holding with the rag in his thick fingers.

Daniel looked around, he had been shown a picture of Inspector Morgan at the BCI (Bureau of Criminal Investigation) and had been told to meet him here at around 7:45. He scanned the room, looking to see if Mr Morgan was anywhere in sight. He eventually found the gruff man hidden in the corner with a yellow-green half drunk bottle of whisky on the floor beside his stool almost shining in the dark recess. Morgan was currently looking down at a thick cigar he was gnawing on while desperately trying to light it with a fancy ivory lighter flipped open hovering towards it. The man looked sharp, despited his face aged with wrinkles, he wore a pristine white trenchcoat, not unlike Daniels brown leather one, and looked like he always knew what he was doing, despite the incoherent mumbles of the unlight cigar. Finally the end of the cigar glowed orange and a small puff of smoke escaped morgans lips, he flipped the lighter closed and put it in his breast pocket, then reached down to grab his gateway to happiness. The scene was downright ironic. Morgan paused and let go of the bottle at his feet as soon as he saw Daniel looking at him from the doorway, the aged Inspector gave a sharp, confident nod for him to come over before continuing to lift the bottle up to his mouth.

Daniel saw him drinking and smoking at the exact same time and briefly wondered if he was intoxicated before somewhat awkwardly shuffling over.

"Excuse me sir, would you happen to be Inspector Morgan?" Daniel asked looking down on him.

"you see anyone else here in a trenchcoat," Morgan retorted "and just call me Morgan, might as well be casual considering the sorry state of the case" Inspector Morgan then took out another cigar and lit it on the one already in his mouth. The two cigars were then shoved in the corner of his mouth almost as if they were an annoyance. More puffs of smoke left his mouth and another gulp of whisky was had. Inspector Morgan looked Daniel in the eye and said "You must be the poor sap they sent over to _aid_ me, now listen here, I don't care what you do for this sorry excuse of a case, rookie, I don't want to talk to you and I don't want to help you, it's all pointless anyway, now stop giving those wide eyes and go away, we're sharing room number 12 upstairs if you want to put your junk away, I'm going to stay down here where the going's easy" with this he finished his last gulp of whiskey and got up to get some more ignoring Daniel.

Daniel was annoyed, miffed, irked, and chafed all at the same time. Daniel thought Inspector Morgan could at least try a little to make a good impression, even if the Inspector was annoyed, miffed, irked, and chafed from months of investigation rendered void. Daniel however didn't show any of this on his face and decided it be best to go to bed soon. He went to upstairs to room number 12 and almost begrudgingly opened the door with wobbly arms. Inside, the small room was separated into two sides by a faded red curtain down the middle, each side had it's own nightstand and a small bed barely suspended above the floor by four small pegs. Daniel sighed and finally realized how tired he was from the long bus ride and threw his belongings on one of the nightstands falling onto the bed as sleep overcame him.

* * *

><p>Christopher continued cruising "carefully" through the curious forest. With the sun setting in the distance and his crunching footsteps as his companion, he ran at impeccable speeds. Shadows loomed around him, almost trapping him in their presence, and Christopher Crockford felt a sense of unease arise within him as a single drop of sweat rolled down his brow.<p>

Chris was practically running a marathon now as he continued his quick, monotone, steps through the woods, the woods seemed more frightening now that darkness was rising around him. In the distance, he thought he heard the sound of whistling. his trek continued and Christopher eventually got bored of being frightened and decided to break the tension.

"I really wish I had a gold wristwatch." Christopher said in an almost disinterested manner, looking at his empty wrist solemnly.

This small time looking away from the path was all it took for something to go wrong. Chris continued to crash into yet _another_ person sending both of them flying through the air. After a particularly rough landing (and a few seconds after regaining his composure) Christopher looked only to see that the one he ran into had already gotten up and was wielding a particularly large knife while they blinked a few times trying to gain an understanding of what just happened, it was Alex.

After Alex realized who it was he quickly sheathed the knife and began to talk "You should really watch where you're going"

"Sorry"

"It's fine,by the way, why couldn't you come over today?" Alex questioned

Christopher took a few breaths before answering, he had been running a long way "I had to do some stuff for Ms Lesting, it wasn't pleasant, but it was better then it could have been considering my little escapade yesterday"

"The demoness I've been hearing about" Alex said, it was neither a statement nor a question.

"That's what everybody calls her, now I know why, seems you've been whittling sticks without me," Christopher noted looking at Alex's knife "I'm glad I missed out"

Alex snorted "I bet you just don't want to dirty that shiny watch you're wearing"

"I'm not wearing a watch"

Alex blinked "I suppose you aren't, I have to get going"

Christopher looked at his watch "Me too"

* * *

><p>Christopher finally jogged up to his home. The sun was a sliver in the distance and Chris was soaked in sweat. Crickets were chirping. The moon was faded in the sky as it transitioned into night. Christopher untied his shoes, putting them on the porch. Christopher looked at his place of residence. His home was a large place, but that was only because many people were living there, Christopher had been meaning to tell Alex where he lived but he never got around to it and never particularly wanted to get around to it for certain <em>reasons. <em>Chris reached down to pick up the key from under the mat with a frown. Chris used to live somewhere else in the city but had to move here, it wasn't a bad place to move to and he didn't hate it, but he hated the actual _reason_ he had to go from where he used to live. Christopher stuck the key into the doorknob and the door clicked open. The light pitter-patter of his feet could be heard as he entered

On the side of the building a wooden sign read the words "Millford City Orphanage".


End file.
